


Anhedonia

by bug_from_space



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Clones, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gaslighting, Gen, Introspection, Senses, Vignette, Vorta - Freeform, no surprise, poor eyesight, the Dominion is terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 15:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bug_from_space/pseuds/bug_from_space
Summary: “Tell me, Weyoun.. Have you ever been diagnosed as anhedonic?”an·he·do·ni·a/ˌanhēˈdōnēə,-hi-/nouninability to feel pleasure.There are many species who found themselves crushed beneath the heel of the Dominion. And even more who suffered because of it. Even the most loyal of their followers were unimportant in their search to gain power.





	1. Sense

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gods and Monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14578818) by [Cyrelia_J](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyrelia_J/pseuds/Cyrelia_J). 



> I've been working on this for two months, almost to the day. And now I'm finished. I feel like my grasp of the characters isn't great, but I tried? At any rate the ideas kept spiralling, so here I am. Please leave some comments and tell mew at you think!

###### Blindnes

**Keevan**

Keevan closes his eyes against the dark of the cave. It’s not like his eyes were any good here anyways, and the Jem’Hadar would probably tell him if anything were in danger of going spectacularly wrong. There are times, he thinks, that the Vorta must have been able to see once upon a time, they would have needed to. But subservience to the Dominion and the Founders had stripped that away. Diplomats hardly needed to be able to see, they needed good ears, (and above all, an undying loyalty to the Gods). It would be nice though, to be able to see well, the ability to behold the cosmos might be nice, even if he couldn’t understand the beauty of it. He let out a sigh and opened his violet eyes, disappointed with the lack of clarity, a part of him half hopeful that he would be able to.

**Weyoun**

From the viewport, Weyoun observed the blanket of space that surrounded the station, focusing in the direction of the minefield. Out there, he knew that the mines were exploding, and, he supposed, to someone else the explosions must be quite a hopeful sight. At least for Dukat it was. It wasn’t his place to question the Founder in their decision to give the Vorta poor eyes, though. They were Gods, and Gods did not make mistakes. There must have been a reason for their choice. But it was disappointing sometimes, the knowledge that what he could see was so simplistic, nowhere near the clear images the Jem’Hadar witnessed. Tilting his head, he focused on the distance as another mine was deactivated somewhere past his sight, yes, it was an unfortunate element.

###### Hear

**Keevan**

The Federation’s prisoner of war station was loud. With the sound of the other prisoners, but also with the officers in their triad of uniform colours (he had learned what they meant early on). The command staff were the loudest. They came and talked at him as if he listened to what they were saying most of the time, it hadn’t taken much practice to be able to tune them out. At leasts their sneers were usually silent. The ones in blue- medical- he added, were the quietest. Sometime they made conversation with him, or the other officers in the room, but usually they simply came and did what they needed to. And, it was something he was eternally grateful for in this place. 

This place that seemed designed to give him a headache. He understood why the Founders had given the Vorta such good hearing. The ability to hear secrets, and confessions as a diplomat was a good talent to have, but here, when there were no deals to learn about, facts to discover, or secrets to extort, it was more a curse than a blessing. Although, he mused, most Vorta would never be in this situation. And he wouldn’t be either if he simply activated the implant, although that wouldn’t happen.

**Weyoun**

He shifted in his bed on the station, one ear pressed into the pillow. The entire station seemed too loud. The hum of the engineering a persistent annoyance, and from the quarters to any side, the Cardassians who seemed to revel in their hedonistic ways- with women and alcohol. It was foolish, the debauchery offered nothing but lowered inhibitions and opening for someone to take advantage of. Weyoun twisted, trying to find a better position to block out the noise. The third him had always been less sensitive to sound, and right now that seemed like it would be a blessing. But he had always been one of the more sound aware versions of himself. Another twist and finally he found a position that offered some level of comfort. Forcing his eyes shut, he focused on the consistent mechanical hum of Terok Nor. It wasn’t good but it was better, and if he allowed himself to focus on sleep, slightly peaceful, but it was, if nothing else, consistent.

###### Taste

**Keevan**

Keevan accepted the tray of food from the officer that came to deposit it at his cell. Grateful for the nourishment, and the fact that he was being fed at all. The Dominion was far more careful with its resources, here he was getting several meals a day. The variety of textures in one dish had always been pleasing, for as much as food ever was to a Vorta.Today it was a stew poured over rice. Not the most textured of all the dishes he had had while being a prisoner of war of the Federation, but not the least interesting one either. By now it had become routine, and the food had become a fact of life. Disappointing, but predictable.


	2. Clone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was all about the senses, this is more about the memories/elements of being one of many. Like always, comments are fantastic!

###### Multiple

**Keevan**

Keevan shut his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights in his cell. The illuminated walls offering nothing more interesting than the dark of his eyelids. This was at least a unique experience. He- Keevan 3- had been captured once, but he had killed himself like any good Vorta would. Out of spite (although he can’t quite remember who he was trying to spite), but he had still done what was expected. Keevan 3 had always been an interesting one. The most loyal of the line right until the end, and then treasonous. The edge of his lips turned up slightly, it damned Keevan 4, he remembered. 

The fourth one had always been too disobedient, too different. Although, he had been killed by the Dominion- or at least sent on a suicide mission. The Founders had known he was imperfect and they had simply cut their losses by killing him as directly as they could. He was the sixth one, and the most disconnected. Keevan 4 had been angry, and 3 had at least, been obedient. His predecessor, 5, was perceptive, disturbingly so. It was the best explanation for why he had been blessed with the ability to distance himself. (Funny that it lead to the opposite of what the Dominion wanted from him). 

He liked 5, who had been aware enough to plan and sneak, and come so close to escaping. (He didn’t. The Jem’Hadar learned of the betrayal, and he was killed by the Gods for it.) He thinks his successor might be empathetic to a fault. Certainly his apathy hadn’t given what the Founders wanted, he’d been too self-serving, too intrigued by his own desire to live, it would make sense for 7 to be the opposite. (Empathetic but certainly not perceptive). 

There were times when Keevan was more than slightly disturbed by the memories. The ability to recall everything was an odd one, he had never struggled with it, none of the clones had. His predecessors had been different than him, but they were him in a way he didn’t imagine other people could imagine, except, maybe, the Trill, he considered, his thoughts shifting to the scientist he had made the acquaintance of when the Federation was bringing him here. The Founders had, while not a sense of humour, a strong ability to ‘right’ the faults of the earlier clones. Lifting one hand to the back of his neck, he felt for the termination implant, considering for a second what what happen if he were to press it, he doubted the Founders would grant him mercy in the next clone. Wondered what the next clone would be like, how they would view him, view his decisions.

###### Defect

**Keevan**

Keevan knows he’s defective, like every clone before him. A model the Changelings had never been able to perfect, no matter what alterations they made to his genetic makeup. There was a reason they didn't send him on diplomatic missions. He was too angry, too disagreeable with their politics, Instead they sent him with the Jem’Hadar, mindless soldiers sent to slaughter resistant species. (It always made him angry that none of them ever won. That none of them were ever capable of withstanding the power of the Dominion.) Why the kept activating him he didn’t know, they hated him, and his line of defects. Four, and five had both been opposed to the Dominion- oh, they had believed in the power and the will of the Gods, but never in the correctness of it. Three had been the perfect Vorta until he died- a spiteful suicide. One and two, they had been the most placid. Loyal, and obedient, but never the best, and never secure in their convictions. As if any slight change could alter their allegiance. The next one, would undoubtedly be just as defective as his predesscesors, provided the Founders deigned to even activate him at all. And they would, just as they had done with him, and all the other versions.

**Weyoun**

It was a disgrace to the Weyoun line. Weyoun 6 had been wrong since his inception. Loyal to the Founders, but in opposition to the war in the Alpha Quadrant. The glorious war that would bring fame and prosperity to the Dominion. It was an absurd belief, and then he had tried to escape. He was a black mark on the pristine Weyoun line. In the end he had done what was expected of him, but it had come at such a terrible cost. The Weyoun line had always been loyal, had believed in the glory of the Founders, and in the victory of obedience. It had been that doubtless faith that had let him gain such a position of respect among the Vorta, and then 6 had come. But he was gone now, a temporary disturbance, one that was righted.

###### Difference

**Keevan**

Each clone was slightly different. A variant on the previous design, an ‘improvement’, Keevan knew. He was the sixth version of himself. The most disconnected, cold and uncaring towards the goals of the Founders, and to everyone but himself. Each failed clone, a template for how to create the perfect Vorta, subservient to the Gods, but still unique enough for a specific purpose. He was bred to fight, or more accurately, to bring Jem’Hadar to fight. The Vorta remained in the back, they made plans, and supplied the ketracel white. (If he’d had just a little bit more he wouldn't be here, and he wouldn’t suffer). It was almost funny, the way they changed them sometimes, one would be too quick to react, and the next would be too slow. If one were too empathetic, the next wouldn’t care at all. From beyond the glorified cage the Federation had put him in, he can hear the ambient sounds, and part of him wonders what his next life will bring, hopefully decommission, but he’s not hopeful enough to think he’ll be gifted that mercy.


	3. Able

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last of them! I'm done. Weirdly in-depth character drabbles: check. Please, leave some comments, I'd love hear what you guys think of them.

###### Toxicity

**Weyoun**

The first time Weyoun remembers drinking poison, it was still the first incarnation of him. The memory is faded, and the edges have been worn off it, four lifetimes later, but it’s still present. When he takes the canar from Sisco, he can’t help but recall it. There’s no hesitation anymore, there hasn’t been four several clones, but that wasn’t always the case he knows. Partly it’s muscle memory from having that trained into him, and partly it’s the fear that if he paused- if he doubted, that he would face another punishment. It’s easier to drink it and play it off with a smile and an explanation than drink it down with a grimace. Liquid toxins were always worse, at least with solid foods it’s possible to focus on the textures. But, he thinks, he should appreciate it. It’s a good thing for a diplomat to be immune to. Possible displeasure doesn’t matter as long as it better serves the Founders.

###### Sleep

**Keevan**

The bunk on the Ferengi ship, while being small, was surprisingly nicer than the one he had been sleeping on for months under the care of the Federation, which was interesting. (And it was worlds better than the cave, and anything the Founders had ever provided.) The bed might at least provide him with a bit of comfort before his demise. It would be the last he would ever experience at any rate. His dreams wouldn't be. That would require them to be pleasant, and they never were. His at least, were better than 5’s. 

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he didn’t dream, but those nights were few, and mostly they had become a constant anticipation. He wondered if it had been the design of the Founders to let them dream, or if it had been an accidental inclusion. Certainly his dreams never spoke of loyalty to the founders (no, instead they were what-ifs of free will and primordial Vorta who could still experience life as a free thing). He had gotten more sleep in the last few months than anything else; there was so little else to fill his time, and it made for some more interesting days than staring at grey walls. (Even if he wanted to, going back to the Dominion was no longer an option, he’d spent far too long free of their influence.)

**Weyoun**

Rolling over, Weyoun sighed, as he woke up. “Computer, time?” he asked. 

“The time is ‘o’ two hundred hours.” the robotic voice of the station replied. How unfortunate. It was far too early to return to the operation centre, and there was no chance he would be able to return to sleep. Bad dreams. A funny thing to fall victim to, his own subconscious. Although, he thought, staring into the featureless dark, it wasn’t surprising. Dreams were frivolous and the Founders never gave them anything that was additional. They were a functional race, good hearing, poor eyesight, no sense of aesthetics, and dreams that were rarely pleasant. There must have been a time when they didn’t dream, Weyoun thinks. Or when their dreams were no different than any other solids. He dreams of the sun on the ocean, and the ability to truly marvel at its beauty, both the ability to process it as something stunning, and to be able to see it clearly. In his dreams he could, but only in them. It wasn’t even that his dreams were bad, just wistful, a stark reminder of what he didn’t have. But if the Founders had thought the things necessary, they would have been included in his genetic makeup.

###### Beauty

**Weyoun**

The painting was beautiful, or at least, everyone said it was. He ran one light finger along the curves of the piece, following the painted strokes deftly, half hoping it would reveal the wonders of aesthetics to him. It didn’t. He leaned back, purple eyes considering the art. Dukat was proud of his daughter, and Kira seemed to agree. He couldn’t see it. There was nothing in the art that inspired an emotional response, no sense of beauty. It was an unfortunate aspect of his existence. Music fell under the same situation, there was no sense of coherence. Melody was lost to the Vorta, the individual sounds easy to pick out, but no sense of enjoyment from them. He considered the painting for another few seconds, sighing as he did. It was unfortunate, but he supposed, there must have been a reason for it.

###### Allegiance

**Weyoun**

The sixth incarnation of Weyoun, shifted his attention to Odo. Tilting his head as he watched the security officer pilot their shuttle back towards Deep Space 9. He was interesting. A conundrum because he was so unlike the Founders Weyoun knew of. He was resistant to the respect Weyoun gave him, and it made him question what he knew about the Founders. They were Gods. They had created the Vorta as they are, it had been them to make them more than just a race of small forest dwelling creatures. The Founders gifted them life, and they could take it away. But then there was Odo who didn’t. Who is trying to protect him from Weyoun 7, and Damar, and watched and commented as he tried everything in the runabout replicator menu. The Founders didn’t make mistakes, but to think that one of their own wasn’t with them? He turned back to the window, it wasn’t his place to question.

**Keevan**

The Founders were Gods, Keevan reminded himself from his spot on the floor of the abandoned infirmary floor. If he didn’t want the punishment of the Gods he shouldn’t have disobeyed protocol (but living had always been his ultimate goal. He’d always been defective, just like all the clones before him.) The Founders created them, made them better than their ancestral selves, he had to believe that, obedience brought victory, and victory was life. Cruel Gods were still gods, and belief in their unwavering righteousness couldn’t be questioned. He couldn’t doubt, couldn’t wonder. The Founders, or like some of the Federation called them, changelings, were cruel, and they would punish him for any more disobedience. 

If only he could go back to his cell. It was loud, but it was warm, and far away from the fitting. And he knew that the Federation wouldn’t kill him, and if they did, he trusted it would be swift. A blaster bolt to the head, nothing drawn out and painful, he couldn’t attribute the same mercy to the Founders, or even with any certainty, the other Vorta.

He pressed one delicate finger to the implant in his neck, it would be so easy to die on his own terms. Not take any chances with the Ferengi, or ever go back to the Dominion. Deny them their chance at justice. It was tempting, so tempting. But, he mused, as he shifted his focus back to his squabbling captors, he had always been too interested in himself, and the slim chance of escape was far too tempting.


End file.
